House rock

Jason James stuns the joint

by John O'Neill

Jason James, it turns out, is one of those creatures you run across every so often that is best termed a music oddity: the kind of guy who grew up without listening to popular music, not so much by choice, but because he never thought to turn the knob to the right of 92 FM. And that's assuming the radio was even on in the first place. More likely, he was playing along to one of his dad's Elmore James or Chuck Berry albums, teaching himself everything he would need to know to be a working musician. It was already determined by age 11 that he was going to be a guitar player, so while other kids played little league or Space Invaders, James went to local blues shows at the Sit 'N Bull or hunkered down in the public library to research all this crazy "old" music that was snapping his cap.

"I was listening to Chuck Berry in fourth grade even though the other kids were into Bruce Springsteen. I don't know, it's just me," says James almost sheepishly. In fact, he says almost everything like it's an apology, as if the words out of his mouth were a waste of your time. Obviously a little uncomfortable in a timid sort of way, like he wouldn't normally say shit even if he had a mouthful, he's extra-tight tonight as his band, the Bay State Houserockers, are playing their first gig at Gilrein's, a place James regards as such a personal mecca he wrote a tune about it.

"This is my favorite place," he says. "I learned a lot from seeing all these local bands and sitting in on open-mic night. I'm happy to be here."

"Actually, they got sick of him hanging around so they gave him a gig," interjects bassist Chris Lillyman, the Houserockers self-appointed smart-ass and polar opposite of the young guitarist. If James is the brains of the outfit, then Lillyman is the mouth, often answering questions for him. He's also James's biggest fan.

"I come from a thrash background, and I saw Jason at Chet's Diner when he was like 16," recalls Lillyman. "I left a note on his windshield saying, `If you ever need a bass player give me a call.' The thing about him is he doesn't play like anyone else. They're all his riffs. I have more knowledge of guitar in my little finger, but I can't touch him!"

Lillyman's wish came true five years ago when James, at the time 18 years old, offered him a spot in the band. But it wasn't until two years ago, When Jamie Jones took over the trap kit, that things started to come together for our roots heroes.

"We didn't even practice our first year together, we we're getting over on Jason's talent," says Lillyman. "We're approaching a level of professionalism now. We were in a rut, playing the same places -- for good money -- but in a rut. Now that we're at this new level, we wanna play for exposure, even if that means no money."

Which brings them to a last-minute fill-in at Gilrein's. When they hit the stage at 10 o'clock, the 20-or-so patrons want to know who these guys are. By the end of the first set, all they want to know is where they're playing next. Actually, it's academic after the fourth or fifth song -- you'd be hard-pressed to find a better bar band than the Houserockers, a trio of absolute thoroughbreds, who, once out of the gate, are intent on nothing but causing a shakin' fit. The band romp through a mix of rockabilly, boogie, hepped-up blues and soul with the same hard-hat and lunch bucket ethics and go-for-broke spirit that defined roots legends like the Blasters, Del Fuegos, and George Thorogood at his Bo Diddlyist. James plays a clean, slashing, and occasionally swampy style that owes as much to Duanne Eddy as Hounddog Taylor and the rhythm section of Jones and Lillyman drive with so much punch and energy that the band's take on conventional soul and blues becomes immediately unconventional. They aren't capable of turning off the steam, which seems just fine by the crowd's reaction.

"I'm just gonna keep playing, even if I have to keep playing small places, cause it's the music I love," says a more relaxed James, having just handed unsuspecting audience members their heads back, giving them a chance to catch their wind and refuel for the second set. "Hopefully, the place is packed and the joint is jumpin'.

"We're working on more original stuff now, cause everyone says you gotta do originals," he adds of the band's immediate future. It's a process he doesn't particularly enjoy, because music oddities live their lives 24-7, and in James's case, he dwells in a world that passed 40 years ago with guys named Link and Scotty and Lightning, and he likes it there. "I'd rather not [be writing originals], I'd rather play these old tunes that I dig."